


Someday We'll Linger in the Sun

by moralwhatsits



Series: Kal Pelletier [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moralwhatsits/pseuds/moralwhatsits
Summary: Mac's supposed to be there to keep her from doing something stupid and getting herself killed, but occasionally Kal returns the favor. Like when he takes an unintentional, fully-clothed dip in the ocean during a snowstorm.





	Someday We'll Linger in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Set well before amid the garbage and the flowers. I've had this sitting in a notebook for months, and I finally worked up the energy to type it! Thanks, final projects that are due this week!

Kal didn’t care how much Mac complained about the cold, real winter couldn’t come fast enough. Though even she could do without the radioactive sleet that had been falling more and more steadily in the Commonwealth as fall deepened. For the last hour, every time she’d taken a step her left boot had squelched. Most people (all the sensible ones, she suspected) stayed indoors as much as possible, but she and the Minutemen had been running off their feet for the last few weeks, trying to get food stores up in the settlements before real winter set in. She and Mac had spent so much time on the road lately that Kal couldn’t remember the last time she’d been completely dry. Certainly Mac had made his feelings about the situation known, but Kal was more worried about Dogmeat, who couldn’t bitch incessantly to let her know he’d had enough. With all the cold and wet his paws were getting badly chafed. She was considering making him little booties.

They were out in Nahant today, on an expedition which had been virtually fruitless. All of food in the area was probably already at the big raider settlement in the harbor, which was a job for another day. The Oceanological Society had yielded some useful scrap, but they’d barely scrounged up enough food for their dinner tonight even counting the mirelurks. They’d also, blessedly, found a packet of instant coffee in a desk drawer. It had been nearly a week since the last stash she’d found had run dry. Kal had given serious thought to just downing the powder right then and there, but it was probably some kind of crime to make poor Mac put up with any more oddness from her.

She’d picked MacCready up in Goodneighbor a little more than a month ago, right after Nick had towed her out of the Memory Den, plunked a glass of The Third Rail’s least disgusting in front of her, and given her what she supposed was a stern talking-to. Among other things, he’d told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t find someone to “remind you that woman cannot live on vengeance and cigarettes alone,” as he put it, while he took care of his overdue cases, he’d drag her back to Diamond City with him and saddle her with Piper. Piper was a sweet kid, but she was just that- a kid. Kal hadn’t been in the mood for idealism, or for Piper’s incessant questions about the vault and pre-war life. Less than a month out of the vault, she hadn’t even wanted to think about it. So she’d hired Mac instead. She hadn’t kept her past _secret_ precisely-- the great honking Pip-Boy on her arm made it pretty clear she’d come from a vault-- but she’d shied away from talking about it. Luckily it seemed Mac wasn’t too keen to reminisce about his past either.

Looking back, Kal didn’t blame Nick for being concerned. She’d been a disaster those first three weeks: fumbling her way through this strange new world on her own, so single minded in her pursuit of Kellogg that she’d barely remembered to eat and sleep. The first time she’d caught a glance of herself in a mirror after that, she’d barely recognized the hollow-eyed skeleton in front of her. Not to mention the raging caffeine withdrawal she hadn’t even been aware of until Nick offered her a cup in his office. “Not a lot of people drink it these days,” he’d said, yellow eyes watching her clutch the cup like the muddy coffee inside was holy water. “Obviously I can’t, but sometimes I brew up a cup just for the smell.” She’d blinked at that, been startled out of her reverie enough to ask if he could really smell. “Sure I can,” he’d replied drily, “though let me tell you, sometimes the Commonwealth does its best to make me wish I couldn’t.” That had surprised a snort of laughter out of her, maybe the first since the bombs.

She and Mac had stopped for a break on the dock out back of the Oceanological Society, Kal to smoke and disassemble the scrap she’d found inside and Mac to smoke and rib her about her packrat tendencies. Mac, sitting to her left, shivered and tucked his scarf more securely between the lapels of his coat. “It’s getting late, Boss. Maybe we should start heading back?” He was right. It was only mid-afternoon, but already the overcast sky was growing darker, the clouds and the sea turbulent as the wind picked up. Kal would rather make it back to the Slog before it started raining, if it was all the same. Another night in a building so leaky she had to put her hat on to have a smoke would be virtually unbearable.

“I don’t want to spend the night so close to these raiders,” she said, examining the sky critically. “Let’s start moving and see how far we make it.”

They didn’t get far before the temperature began to drop as sharply as the wind was rising. Kal swore internally. The storm that had been brewing all day had finally decided to break with more than two hours left on their hike back. Well, if they were probably going to end up soaked and muddy no matter what, she might as well get something useful out of this venture. Coming up on their left was a ruined house with a small pier behind it that Kal thought might offer a decent vantage of the floating raider settlement. “Hang on, Mac,” she said, veering off the road to the pier. “I want to get a quick look at that raider setup from this angle. If we can flank them, taking them out will be a lot easier.” Mac sighed, but followed her past the half-ruined house to the mouldering pier. He and Dogmeat settled in to wait. Kal tossed her pack down next to his and situated herself at the end of the pier, propping her rifle up on a barrel.

\---

A yelp and a splash jerked Kal abruptly back down her scope. She spun, alarmed, gun raised at… nothing. Mac was nowhere in sight. Dogmeat stood near the end of the wood offshoot dock, tail wagging as he peered down into the water.

Mac surfaced an instant later, flailing and sputtering. With that scowl and his hair plastered wetly to his scalp, he looked like nothing so much as a sodden, angry cat. Kal did her best to repress a laugh as he started trying to claw his way back up onto the dock. “Uh, lose your balance there, Mac?” she asked, utterly failing to keep a straight face despite herself.

He glared up at her, hair dripping into her eyes. “H-hilarious, Boss. You wanna help me outta here? I’m fuh-freezing.” For once, she didn’t think Mac had cut himself off from swearing. His lips were looking a little blue. Oh hell. Funny as it was to her, that water must be freezing to a delicate southern flower like Mac.

Kal shook her head, smirk already replaced with a faint frown. “I don’t think the dock will take the weight. You’ll have to swim to shore.” Mac could only manage the most awkward of doggy paddles-- she really was going to have to teach him to swim properly one of these days-- and even having stopped to shoulder both packs, Kal and Dogmeat beat Mac the short distance to the rocky beach. He clambered out with the aid of her extended hand, dripping and shivering in the cold air. Kal winced. Even in the dim light she could see that his fingertips were going pale and bluish. It was hard to tell with all the wind, but she thought the temperature was getting close to zero. Of course this of all nights would be the night it finally snowed. Mac shuddered again, violently.

“Hand me m-my p-pack, Boss, and let’s g-get moving,” Mac said, teeth chattering. She handed the backpack over, and while he was occupied with putting it on reached up and plucked his sodden hat from his head, replacing it with her own. Mac’s mouth dropped open in a protest that withered away unspoken under-- well, above: the top of Kal’s head was level with Mac’s chin on a good day-- her raised eyebrow. Satisfied, she turned to go.

“Uh, B-boss, the Slog’s th-that way.” Mac jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the mainland, opposite of the direction Kal was headed.

She turned, arching an eyebrow at him once again. “Scintillating as the conversation at The Slog is, Mac, it’s hardly worth you freezing to death on the way there. Besides, it’s about to-- it _is_ snowing.” The first sparse flakes had begun drifting down around them. Mac huffed a laugh in agreement, broken by his shivering. Apparently he was as sick of hearing about tarberry varietals as she was. “We’re holing up in the creepy house for the night.”

Most of the houses in Nahant were too obliterated to provide any shelter, but one was fairly intact. All of its windows and doors, like so many buildings in the Commonwealth, had been boarded up-- maybe even since before the bombs fell. Earlier in the day she and Mac had pried a board off of one of the windows to reveal an eerie, perfectly preserved pre-war living room. The furniture was even covered with dropcloths, as though the owners had been expecting to return. Mac had declared it “creepy as heck” about ten seconds after clambering through the window.

The place probably owed its preservation to the same violent weather that had destroyed most of the other houses on the peninsula-- no sensible scavenger was going to face down mudcrabs and heavy winds for the basically nonexistent pickings in Nahant. Even this house had yielded only a couple of pieces of scrap and a single pack of snack cakes. Kal had been disappointed, but now it was the best thing she could ask for.

They set off again, snow swirling around them. Mac had his arms clamped around his torso, hands tucked inside his soaked duster. His rifle swung freely, still dripping, from its strap. It was just as well they weren’t heading back to The Slog. He was shivering badly already. Kal didn’t think he could even hold his rifle at this point, if it was still operational after its saltwater dunk. At least they knew the peninsula was clear, barring the marina.

Though the walk to the house took mere minutes, Mac had already begun to falter. She took his elbow to steady him as they clambered over a jumble of rocks, throwing him a look that dared him to comment. He didn’t, which perversely worried Kal more than the shivering. Dogmeat trailed close at Mac’s heels as though trying to herd him in the right direction, looking as concerned as she felt.

They’d propped the board back against the window when they left the first time-- no sense in letting the weather ruin what could be used as a settlement or a Railroad safe house later. Snow had just begun to pile in drifts around the house’s foundation as they circled around to the ocean-facing side of the house. In the moment it took her to remove the sheet of plywood, Mac had already started visibly swaying on his feet. With some difficulty, she and Dogmeat hauled Mac over the windowsill and into the dusty time capsule of the living room. From there, they herded him down a hallway to the master bath. It was in the center of the first floor-- the only relatively suitable place Kal could light a fire without light or smoke being visible from the outside.

Kal had never expected, when she first “arrived,” so to speak, in the Commonwealth, to find pre-war houses so disturbing. The wallpaper was faded and peeling a bit, the fixtures dusty, but otherwise, it was like walking into the past. The pictures were even still hanging on the walls. It was strange, how quickly what was normal could become almost surreal. Kal dropped her pack unceremoniously on the floor and tugged Mac’s off his back when he made no move to do the same. “Strip,” she ordered him tersely, before hurrying out of the room.

Kal returned a few minutes later, arms full of broken pieces of furniture, to find Mac exactly where she’d left him-- standing in the middle of the bathroom, shoulders hunched, arms clamped around himself, shuddering uncontrollably. Dogmeat was tugging gently on a mouthful of his coat, tail wagging anxiously. Cursing silently to herself, Kal dumped her armload of firewood into the bathtub and turned to Mac.

Mac barely twitched as Kal swept her hat off his head and tugged off his soaked scarf. “Mac,” she said, trying to pry his arm away from the buttons on his duster, “we have to get these clothes off you before you freeze.”

“S-sorry,” he said, relaxing his arms with obvious difficulty. “I can--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kal said, batting his arms away from the front of his coat. “You couldn’t undo a button right now if someone paid you a million caps.” Mac laughed at that, barely more than a huff of breath but infinitely better than nothing at all.

“A million caps? C-could too,” he countered, teeth chattering. She hummed in response, more focused on working buttons free from drenched cloth. Mac stood patiently enough as she worked, seeming to zone out again, but as her hands moved to his belt, he started in alarm. “I c-can do that!” he yelped, hands flying to his waistband.

“Suit yourself,” Kal replied, amused. At least he seemed a little more himself. “Here, dry yourself off,” she said, handing him her scarf. “And, uh, you probably don’t have a change of clothes, do you?” Mac shook his head. She shrugged her own jacket off and briskly began to unbutton her shirt. Eyes wide, Mac hurriedly bent to work at his bootlaces. Câlisse, she was wearing an undershirt. She dropped the clothes on the counter beside the sink and knelt to work at Mac’s other boot. “Figure something out with these and whatever you’ve got. I’m going to find some blankets.” They tended to travel as light as possible on these supply hunts, and since they were both accustomed to roughing it that didn’t usually include emergency camping gear or spare clothes. Hers were far too small and far too light for Mac, but he had to wear something.

When Kal returned to the bathroom, arms laden with dropcloths and one surprisingly well-preserved duvet, Mac was perched on the edge of the tub, still curled in on himself and shivering. He’d apparently had spare socks and boxers in his pack, and her contributions were draped haphazardly over bits of him. Dogmeat, ever helpful, was sprawled on his feet.

“I’m going to get the fire going,” Kal said, dropping the blankets. “How are your hands and feet?”

“Numb,” Mac replied, pulling his hands out of his armpits to inspect them. They still looked pale and bloodless, but hey, his fingers weren’t black and or falling off. Mac tucked his hands back under his arms as Kal crouched over the jumble of wood in the tub.

\----

Kal lit a cigarette off of the growing fire and swiveled on her toes towards Mac, hands extended expectantly. Mac looked _very_ reluctant to leave the cocoon he’d made of the duvet-- the bathroom might have been warmer than the outside, but it was still cold as hell. They sat in comfortable silence, Kal gently massaging the feeling back into Mac’s hand between drags of her cigarette. Mac was starting to nod off, still sitting with just the top of his head and his hand protruding from the duvet, when he started awake. “S-shit, Boss, aren’t you cold?” His eyes flicked down to her thin, sleeveless undershirt and then immediately back up to his face. Adorable. Especially considering that last week his face had been about an inch away from her tits while he was patching up a nasty slash some raider had given her across the ribs.

Kal snorted. “I’m from northern Canada, numbnuts,” she said with cheery nonchalance. “This is beach weather for me.” Truth be told, Kal could stand to be warmer, but she was chilly. Mac was hypothermic. Any protest Mac was about to voice was interrupted by a stifled yawn.

The peaceable silence settled back over the room. Mac hadn’t completely stopped shivering, but he shook his head when Kal pointed inquiringly at his feet. “Dogmeat’s pretty warm,” Mac offered. Dogmeat lifted his head and gave a little woof of agreement.

That mirelurk meat wouldn’t be good, even by the lax food safety standards of the Commonwealth, if they waited any longer to eat it, but Mac looked about to fall asleep sitting up. Knowing him, he’d crack his head on the toilet on the way down on top of everything else. She should have put it out in the snow earlier. Too late, now that she’d rigged the hallway with a mine. Oh well. Kal retrieved the snack cakes from her pack and thrust them into Mac’s hands. “Eat these while I make the bed. They’ll help you warm up.” He took the package, extending it to her after he’d taken one. She shook her head-- her arms were full of dropcloths again. Mac shared the cakes out with Dogmeat as Kal tried to make a nest of sorts between the counter and the tub. It was narrow, but that would probably just keep them warmer.

Mac, duvet now clutched around his shoulders like a cape, surveyed the arrangements. “Uh, hey, Boss, mind if I take the second watch tonight? I’m-” He yawned hugely. “I’m dead on my feet.” He did look exhausted, and no wonder. Trying not to die took a lot out of a person.

Kal stood up, Mac’s discarded clothes in hand. It was tricky, draping them around the edge of the tub close enough to the fire to dry without falling in. Distracted, she glanced up at him. “We’re not keeping watch tonight. No one knows we’re here, oh, and there’s a mine in the hallway, so be careful if you have to take a piss in the middle of the night.” She examined her work, frowning slightly, and shifted Mac’s duster a touch closer to the fire.

“Uh… Boss? Dunno if you noticed, but there is only one bed in here.” Mac seemed to be trying for his usual flippant tone, but Kal could see a flush creeping up his neck through a gap in the duvet. Good, it would keep his ears from falling off.

“We need to keep your core temp up, so tonight we’re _all_ snuggling. Hope you like being little spoon.” She delivered that with a wink, hoping to get him to relax enough to go along with it. Mac had mostly stopped shivering, but he really did need to stay warm. People who traveled around the Commonwealth together got comfortable with each other pretty quickly-- nudity became a far less pressing issue when someone was bleeding out of their femoral. They’d slept in some pretty lousy places, too, but they’d never actually had to spoon. Ugh, she probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. Mac knew well enough now not to touch Kal while she was sleeping, but half the time she heard a noise she still came up guns blazing. Better to lay there awake all night than stab Mac for rolling over.

Mac's face was going scarlet, and, perhaps realizing it, averted his face. “Really Boss, I feel fine now. No spooning necessary. And I should probably take first shift after all, you know, I just remembered that I have to clean my gun, and…” Mac’s voice was a little high-pitched-- was it the cuddling, or the cuddling with _her_? It didn’t matter. The cuddling had to happen.

She sighed, and more patiently than she felt, explained. “Mac, we have to keep your core temperature up because you don’t have the energy to deal with it dropping again. I’m not letting you _die_ because you’re too macho to snuggle or something. You can clean your damn gun in the morning, now lay your ass down. Dogmeat, you too.” Okay, maybe about as patiently as she felt. The look on Mac’s face suggested that he wasn’t done complaining, but Dogmeat, thank god, played his role to perfection. He leapt up from his place at Mac’s feet, tail wagging, and flopped down on the bed. The imploring doggy eyes going full-force at Mac finally did the trick. He wilted in the face of sad puppy eyes and laid down, curling around Dogmeat. His grumpy scowl was already fading in the warmth. Dogmeat was getting _so_ many treats when they got back to Sanctuary.

By the time Kal finished unlacing Mac’s boots, hoping to dry them out somewhat by morning, Mac seemed to already be asleep. But as she slipped in behind him, nose veritably pressed against his shoulder blades-- there really was not a lot of room-- he mumbled, “Night Boss.” Kal didn’t fall asleep as instantly as he did (had she ever done that in her life?) but there was a sort of serenity in the quiet and the warmth. Quiet aside from Dogmeat’s gentle snoring, that is. Snow settled around the house as Kal drowsed, muffling sound and lending a rare air of peace to the Commonwealth. Eventually Kal drifted into a light sleep, and they made it to morning without Kal even stabbing Mac once.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this has basically not been edited at all. Also, I am from a warm climate and I know shit-all about hypothermia, so, sorry northerners.


End file.
